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Saturday, January 11, 2014

January, What’s Your Story?

by Susanna Ives

A month ago when I agreed to write a
blog post for January 11th, I was still floating in the soft glow of
Christmas carols, candles, huge feasts, and packages tied up with big bows.
Unfortunately, I suffer from this expectation versus reality problem. In my
mind, I envision January as a month of resolutions, healthy living, and having large
swaths of time to work while my children are happy in school. And inevitably,
every January, some winter storm hits, schools are closed, children are sick,
people send emails containing that cruel “it’s due” phrase, bills roll in, and
the power goes out.

That brings me to this morning, when
I’m was sitting in the pediatrician’s office with my sick daughter and wondering
what the heck I was going to write for the post? My head was one big swirling
bitch fest about how much I detest January.
Nobody wants to hear that. Then I started doing that writer thing where
I take aspects of my life and twist, bend, multiply them, turning them into
stories. So rather than complain to you, I’ll offer these lovely story ideas
very roughly based on my life in January. I’m a lousy contemporary writer, so I will
spare the literary world and just leave these fabulous ideas in pitch form.

After
her divorce from her psychotic, underground crime lord husband, Jane joined the
FBI witness protection program. She changed her name, as well as the names of
her five children, and moved to a quaint small town. She wasn't looking for
love. She was just looking for the name of a good pediatrician.

Mark,
a military MD and former special forces Delta Six officer, wanted to put the
violence of war behind him. He moved to a rural town and began a general
medicine practice, finally realizing his lifelong dream of being a peace loving
country doctor. He wasn't looking to
lose his heart when the stunning Jane walked into his waiting room with a
screaming baby on either hip, her golden hair falling tangled and uncombed
about her shoulders, her voluptuous body clad in tight, unmatched, and food-stained
clothes. He knew from the way she said, “Do you think it might be strep” that
she was trouble.

He tried to resist his powerful attraction for her, but
it was hard when she turned up at his office every day. It was like one of her kids would get well and
then another would get sick. Good Lord,
could those kids ever be well at the same time. How many school sick days
could one family accumulate? But when Jane’s children contracted a nasty rotavirus,
he couldn't have them infecting his office.
He tried to tell himself he was only making a patient call when he
pulled into her driveway that night with a bottle of antibiotics and a dozen
roses resting on the passenger seat of his Ferrari. But when he opened the door to find Jane and
her vomiting kids held captive by her sadistic, crime lord, ex-husband, Mark put
aside his prescription writing ways and reached back to his dangerously sexy past
to save the woman he loves…and all her puking children.

Here's an erotic novella idea.
What do you think?

Jennifer
always dreamed of owning an old home with wooden floors, heavy French doors
with glass knobs, and verandas with porch swings. After her boyfriend Chad
confided that Stanley, the automotive parts associate sales manager, excited
him in ways she never could, Jennifer decided that she didn't need a man to realize
her dream of living in a quaint Victorian.

However,
after one year into living her dream, she was cursing herself for giving up that
easy, gated community, carefree, apartment lifestyle. Could another thing go wrong in her home? She had just finished repairing the roof where
a massive oak had fallen on it, when the water heater broke. This, on top of
the dishwasher blade breaking and that suspicious crack in the dining room wall
growing bigger. Then there was the lack of insulation issue that caused her to
move about the frigid high-ceiling rooms toting a space heater.

In
January, the temperature sank well below freezing, and a tree fell on the power
line down the street. Huddled in her bed, dressed in two layers of warm ups and
thick wool socks, she listened to the drip, drip, drip of all the faucets and
prayed, reminding the Lord that she was broke. Then there was a scary swishing
sound. She bolted from her bed. Using the light from her smartphone, she ran
downstairs to find water gushing from under the sink. Cat food bowls, roach
motels, and the recycling were floating upon the tiny sea on her kitchen floor.

She
screamed into her phone: “Give me the name of a plumber who is open!”

On
the screen, flashed a website for Handy Randy, the midnight plumber. The page
showed a muscled man in a body-building pose, hefting a massive wrench. The caption
read, “Here for all your urgent late night needs.”

She
took a deep breath, feeling a throb between her legs and temples, and dialed
the number. A deep, rich, Barry White voice answered. “Handy Randy at your service.”

Wow, January seems so much better
in fiction. And speaking of fiction, are you snowed in, huddled by your space
heater, or surrounded by sick children? If so, seek some relief in my new book Wicked Little Secrets.

"To be able to meld the vivid characters and complex scheme as this author did earned her a Best Book in my eyes. If you love historical romances, then this book is a must!" -- Long and Short Reviews